pzb.lostsouls-第3部分

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　　　PART　ONE
　　Fifteen　Years　Later
　　
　　　Chapter　1
　　
　　The　night　wind　felt　wonderful　in　Steve's　hair。
　　The　Thunderbird　was　huge。　It　always　drove　like　a　fucking　monster；　but　tonight　Steve　felt　as　if　he　were　piloting　some　great　steamboat　down　a　magic　river；　a　river　of　shimmering　asphalt　banked　by　pine　forest　and　thick；　rioting　expanses　of　kudzu。　They　were　somewhere　far　outside　Missing　Mile；　somewhere　on　the　highway　that　led　up　to　the　Roxboro　electric　power　plant　and；　beyond　that；　the　North　Carolina…Virginia　border。
　　Ghost　was　asleep　beside　him；　his　head　hung　out　the　window　on　the　passenger　side；　his　pale　hair　whipping　in　the　wind；　his　face　washed　in　moonlight。　The　bottle　of　whiskey　was　prepped　between　Ghost's　legs；　three…quarters　empty；　in　danger　of　tipping　despite　the　limp　hand　that　curled　around　it。
　　Steve　leaned　over　and　grabbed　the　bottle；　took　a　healthy　swig。　〃The　T…bird　has　been　drinking；〃　he　sang　into　the　wind；　〃yes；　the　T…bird　has　been　drinking　。　。　。　not　me。〃
　　〃Um；〃　said　Ghost。　〃What？　What？〃
　　〃Forget　it；〃　Steve　told　him。　〃Go　back　to　sleep。　Have　another　drink。〃　He　drove　faster。　He'd　wake　Ghost　on　the　drive　home；　to　keep　him　pany。　Now　he　wanted　Ghost　to　stay　asleep　awhile　longer；　there　was　bad　business　ahead。　Dangerous　business。　Or　so　Steve　liked　to　think　of　it。
　　Ghost　took　the　bottle　back　and　stared　at　the　label；　trying　to　focus　on　it。　His　pale　blue　eyes　swam；　narrowed；　sharpened　only　slightly。　〃White　Horse；〃　he　read。　〃Look；　Steve；　it's　White　Horse　whiskey。　Did　you　know　Dylan　Thomas　was　drinking　at　a　pub　called　the　White　Horse　the　night　he　died？〃
　　〃You　told　me。　That's　why　we　bought　it。〃　Steve　crossed　his　fingers　and　tried　to　will　Ghost　back　to　sleep。
　　〃He　drank　eighteen　straight　whiskeys；〃　Ghost　said；　awed。　
　　〃You　drank　eighteen　straight　whiskeys。〃
　　〃No　wonder　my　brain　is　sailing　with　the　moon。　Sing　to　me；　Steve。　Sing　me　back　to　sleep。〃
　　Just　at　that　moment　they　crossed　a　bridge　that　seemed　to　bow　under　the　weight　of　the　old　brown　T…bird；　and　Steve　saw　moonlight　shimmering　on　black　waters；　so　he　raised　his　voice　in　the　first　song　that　came　to　mind：　〃Silver　southern　moon　。　。　。　for　ten　years　I　thought　I　was　born　of　you　。。。。　Silver　moon；　I'll　be　back　someday　。。。。　〃
　　〃That's　not　the　way　it　goes。　I　should　know；　I　wrote　it。〃　Ghost's　voice　was　fading。　〃Oh；　silver　southern　moon　。　。　。　tell　me　your　sweet　lies；　then　let　me。　drown　deep　in　your　eyes　。。。。
　　〃Somedaaay；〃　Steve　joined　in。　He　and　the　whiskey　sang　Ghost　to　sleep；　the　whiskey　with　its　somnolent　amber　song；　Steve　with　a　voice　that　cracked　when　he　tried　to　hit　the　high　notes。　Behind　them　the　river　passed　in　silence；　the　lowest…hanging　branches　brushed　the　water；　and　the　leaves　rotted　on　the　bough。　The　moon　spread　like　butter　on　the　black　river；　and　Ghost's　eyes　closed；　with　his　head　pillowed　on　the　hump　between　the　seats；　he　began　to　dream。
　　They　bypassed　Roxboro；　but　Steve　saw　the　power　plant　on　Lake　Hyco；　lit　up　all　glowing　green　and　white　like　a　weird　birthday　cake；　its　million　pipes　and　wires　and　glass　insulators　and　metal　gewgaws　reflected　in　the　lake。　On　the　way　back；　if　Ghost　was　awake；　they'd　drive　up　there　to　a　hill　Steve　knew　and　look　out　over　the　pastures　and　the　lake　and　all　the　glittering　Milky　Way。　An　hour　or　so　after　passing　out　Ghost　was　usually　raring　to　go　again。　His　dreams　gave　him　new　strength。　Or　made　him　laugh　or　cry；　or　sometimes　scared　the　shit　out　of　him。
　　Steve　put　his　hand　on　Ghost's　head；　smoothed　back　wisps　of　hair　from　flickering　closed　eyes。　He　wondered　what　was　unfolding　beneath　his　hand；　beneath　the　thin　bone；　inside　the　orb　of　ivory　that　cradled　Ghost's　weird　brain。　Who　was　born　and　murdered　and　resurrected　inside　that　skull？　What　walked　behind　Ghost's　eyelids；　what　lithe　secret　phantoms　tapped　Ghost's　shoulder　and　made　him　whimper　deep　in　his　throat？
　　Ghost　often　dreamed　of　things　that　were　going　to　happen；　or　of　things　that　had　already　happened　that　he　couldn't　possibly　know　about。　These　premonitions　could　e　when　he　was　awake　too；　but　the　ones　that　came　to　him　in　dreams　seemed　to　be　the　most　potent。　More　often　than　not　they　were　also　the　most　cryptic。　He　had　known　when　his　grandmother　was　going　to　die；　but　then　so　had　she。　Though　surely　painful；　the　knowledge　had　given　them　the　time　they　needed　to　say　goodbye。
　　Goodbye　for　a　while；　anyway。　Ghost　had　inherited　his　grandmother's　house　in　Missing　Mile；　where　he　and　Steve　lived　now。　Steve　had　spent　plenty　of　time　in　that　house　as　a　kid；　watching　Miz　Deliverance　mix　herbs　or　cut　out　cookies　with　her　heart…shaped　cutters；　building　forts　in　the　backyard；　sleeping　over　in　Ghost's　room。　Even　now；　five　years　after　her　death；　Steve　sometimes　thought　he　felt　the　familiar　presence　of　Miz　Deliverance　in　a　room；　or　just　around　a　corner。　He　imagined　this　was　something　Ghost　took　for　granted。
　　Suddenly　unnerved　by　the　prospect　of　touching　Ghost's　dreams；　Steve　put　his　hand　back　on　the　wheel。
　　They　drove　past　a　graveyard　full　of　softly　rotting　monuments　and　flowers；　an　abandoned　railyard；　a　barbecue　shack　whose　sign　advertised　GRAND　OPENING　EVERY　FRI　AND　SAT　NITE。　A　rabbit　darted　across　the　road。　Steve　braked；　and　Ghost's　head　rolled　back　and　forth　on　his　thin　neck　so　fragile；　so　fragile。　These　days　Steve　was　paranoid　about　something　happening　to　Ghost。　Ghost　was　spacy；　sure；　but　he　could　take　care　of　himself。　Still；　Steve　couldn't　help　watching　out　for　him；　especially　now　that　Ghost　was　the　only　person　he　felt　like　spending　time　with。
　　They　had　other　friends；　sure；　but　those　guys　mostly　wanted　to　go　out　drinking　and　smoke　weed　and　talk　about　Wolfpack　football　at　the　state　university　over　in　Raleigh。　All　of　which　was　okay；　even　though　the　Wolfpack　was　always　pretty　shitty；　but　Ghost　was　different。　Ghost　didn't　give　a　flying　fuck　about　football；　Ghost　could　drink　everybody　else　under　the　table　and　not　get　a　damn　bit　weirder；　and　Ghost　understood　all　the　shit　that　had　gone　down　over　the　past　few　months。　The　shit　with　Ann。　Ghost　never　asked　Steve　why　he　didn't　forget　about　Ann　and　get　himself　a　new　girlfriend；　Ghost　understood　why　Steve　didn't　want　to　see　Ann　or　any　other　girl；　not　for　months　and　months；　maybe　not　ever。
　　Not　until　he　could　trust　himself；　anyway。　Right　now　he　did　not　deserve　the　pany　of　women。　However　lonely　or　horny　he　got；　he　had　it　ing　to　him　for　what　he　had　done　to　Ann。
　　He　played　with　strands　of　Ghost's　hair　as　he　drove；　winding　them　around　his　fingers；　marvelling　at　their　fineness；　their　silvery…gold　luster。　Just　to　feel　the　difference；　he　ran　his　hand　through　his　own　coarse　hair；　hair　the　color　of　a　crow's　wing；　hair　that　stood　up　in　wild　loops　and　cowlicks。　His　hair　was　dirty；　and　he　noticed　that　Ghost's　was　too。　Steve　hadn't　been　taking　care　of　himself…he'd　gone　days　without　a　shower　and　over　a　month　without　washing　his　clothes；　he'd　been　late　for　his　job　at　the　record　store　three　times　last　week；　he　was　putting　away　a　twelve…pack　of　Bud　every　day　or　two　…but　he　hoped　it　wasn't　rubbing　off　on　Ghost。　There　was　such　a　thing　as　being　too　damn　sympathetic。　Steve's　hand　felt　greasy。　He　wiped　it　on　his　T…shirt。
　　They　were　here。　Steve　had　no　idea　where；　but　he　saw　what　he　wanted：　the　faded　light　of　an　ancient　Pepsi　machine　sitting　outside　a　fishin'…and…huntin'　store；　casting　dim　red　and　blue　shadows　in　the　dirt　of　the　parking　lot。　Steve　swung　the　T…bird　in　and　killed　the　ignition。　Ghost's　head　had　slipped　onto　Steve's　knee；　and　he　eased　out　from　under　it。　There　was　a　little　dark　spot　on　the　knee　of　Steve's　jeans。　Ghost's　spit；　Ghost's　drunken　sleeping　spit。　Steve　rubbed　it　into　the　cloth；　then　absently　put　his　finger　in　his　mouth。　A　faint　taste　of　whiskey　and　molasses　。　。　。　and　what　was　lie　doing　sucking　someone　else's　spit　off　his　finger？　Didn't　matter。　Ghost　was　lost　deep　in　dreams。　Time　to　go　to　work。
　　Steve　fished　in　the　backseat。　Cassette　cases…so　that　was　where　Ann's　damn　Cocteau　Twins　tape　had　ended　up。　Steve　had　always　hated　it　anyway；　the　girl's　feathery　voice　that　was　supposed　to　be　so　angelic　and　the　ethereal…seasick　wall　of　sound；　Empty　food　bags　and　a　veritable　sea　of　beer　cans。　Finally　he　dug　out　his　special　tool；　a　length　of　coat　hanger　bent　into　a　hook　at　one　end。　He　wonder